


Bridge Over Troubled Water

by Unfeathered



Series: Connection [11]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Post-Episode: s03e05 Children Of Earth - Day 5, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25066420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfeathered/pseuds/Unfeathered
Summary: After the events ofChildren of Earth, Jack seeks comfort from his unfailing stalwart, Rupert Giles
Relationships: Rupert Giles/Jack Harkness
Series: Connection [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584910
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Buffyverse Top 5, Summer of Giles





	Bridge Over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [Connection](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584910) series, in which Jack Harkness and Rupert Giles met up during S6 of Buffy (pre-series for Torchwood) and have been using kinky sex to comfort each other (and occasionally just for fun!) ever since…
> 
> Written (or at least finished – see below!) for [summer_of_giles](https://summer-of-giles.dreamwidth.org/) and [hc_bingo](https://hc-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) \- prompt: _survivor's guilt_
> 
> I started this way, way back in mid-2009, in response to a Rounds of Kink prompt: 'He didn't want responsibility for his own actions anymore', kink: claiming or establishing ownership'. Needless to state, it didn't get finished in time, or anywhere near in time! I did some more work on it in Jan 2013, then again in Jan 2018 (January tending to be the time when other things like real life and role-playing are a little quieter and I have space to think about writing again). And then when I suddenly started being inspired to write fic again, in Oct/Nov 2019, I looked at this again and realised it was actually almost there. But it's taken me another seven or eight months to actually, finally finish it! Hope you enjoy it. :-)

After everything's finished – after the paperwork is filled in and the cover-up completed and he's not needed by anybody any more – Jack starts walking. And keeps on walking. He wanders aimlessly, not heading anywhere, just walking to keep moving, as if to escape the images that fill his head. They follow him, of course, but he just keeps walking. He doesn't know what else to do.

It's not like anyone actually needs him anywhere, or probably even wants him. Gwen will be safely home in Cardiff with Rhys and she's got her new family to concentrate on now. He expects Torchwood is the last thing she'll want to think about. Alice will never speak to him or want to see him again. And Ianto is…

_No. Not thinking about Ianto._

Except that he does, of course. Once he's thought the name, images flood into his brain, of the man who loved him and he never quite loved enough in return. He cared, though. Oh, he cared. And while he never expected Ianto to live long enough to get old, he hadn't been ready to lose him so soon. Too young. Too fucking young.

And so soon after losing Owen and Tosh too. In the last few months, he's managed to lose almost his entire team and it's just too much to deal with.

He walks for days, completely unaware of his surroundings. He barely eats, he barely drinks, he barely sleeps. He just exists.

It's the strains of "Bridge Over Troubled Water" seeping out from a music shop one day that penetrate his trance, bringing a flash of a different face – older, wiser, dearly beloved – bent over an acoustic guitar. He starts to straighten. Perhaps he does have somewhere to go, after all.

He hitch-hikes to Westbury and knocks on Giles's door.

He's been standing there a while before he surfaces enough to realise that Giles isn't home and he's lost the front door key Giles gave him. He lost so many belongings in the explosion in the Hub. His wriststrap, his little box of photographs, his TARDIS key… It's a tiny collection of treasured memories for someone who's lived as long as he had, but it's all he's ever dared try to hold onto. He hasn't had time to mourn them yet. He's had far greater things to mourn.

He doesn't break into Giles' house, though he could. It doesn't even really occur to him to try. He just sits on the doorstep and waits. Neither patient nor impatient, just waiting.

He's still there hours later when the crunch of wheels on gravel rouses him and he's suddenly blinded by car headlights as Giles turns the corner to pull up in front of the house. He flings his arm up to shield his eyes and is slow bringing it down, which means that Giles is already out of the car and hurrying over to him, obviously concerned, by the time he can see again.

"Jack!" Giles's gaze rakes across his face. Jack can't even imagine what he looks like to Giles. "What's happened? How can I help?"

Jack just shakes his head as he gets stiffly to his feet. Giles puts out a hand to steady him and Jack stares at it blankly, not taking it. He's not sure he can _do_ touch yet.

He doesn't feel as if he deserves it.

Giles frowns at him, and then his eyes widen momentarily. " _Oh!_ " he says softly, and there's suddenly a deep sympathy in his eyes. "That dreadful business with the children. That was you?"

 _Amongst others, yeah._ Jack can't say it. He can't speak. He nods, dumbly, arms hanging loosely at his sides, feeling useless. He tried – he tried _so hard_ – and in the end he still lost almost everything he loved.

There's no way Giles can know all of that, but he obviously sees enough in Jack's face to guess at some of it. He lays a hand lightly on Jack's upper arm. "Jack. I'm so sorry. Come inside? Please?"

Jack tenses at the touch, even through the thick wool of his coat. He manages not to shake Giles' hand off, but he's relieved when the hand lifts again to dig out a key, and he's sure it shows. He nods again, and follows Giles inside.

It feels like years since he's been here, though it can't actually be more than a few months. It's still automatic, though, to hang up his coat on the polished brass hook inside the door. His hand lingers there for a moment, resting on the wool of the coat that isn't quite _his_ ; then he turns round to find Giles watching him with eyes that seem to see far too easily through his currently rather meagre defences.

"You look exhausted," Giles says, lines of worry drawn on his face, and is it dreadful of Jack that he's relieved that that's all Giles says? "Have you rested at _all_ since… since?"

He thinks about that for a moment. Has he rested? He can't remember. He shrugs helplessly.

"If you have, it's not enough," Giles says disapprovingly, and he turns towards the stairs. "Come upstairs," he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. Not that Jack's arguing. He hasn't got the energy. He just follows Giles blindly up the stairs and into the bedroom and starts to strip automatically, barely even aware of Giles watching him carefully. Stepping out of his pants and placing them neatly on the pile of clothing, he realises belatedly that perhaps Giles wasn't actually expecting him to strip, or at least not completely, since an observation that he looks exhausted is actually more likely to lead to an order to sleep (he shudders at the thought) than any of the more energetic games they play, but it's too late to worry about that now. He stands still, patiently, his nakedness combining with the place and Giles' presence to help him if not relax then at least let himself go numb, waiting, accepting.

Giles' gaze scours him as he stands there. Then Giles goes still, and it's a moment before he realises Giles is looking down at his left wrist, agonisingly bare where before it's always been encased in thick leather.

"You lost your wrist strap?" Giles says softly, and it's not even really a question. After all, if he had it, he'd be wearing it.

He nods jerkily, and risks a quick glance up at Giles' face. There's such a depth of sorrow in those hazel eyes, sorrow for the loss of something so precious.

He looks away quickly. He can't think about that. Not yet.

Giles lets out a breath, and moves slightly, breaking the mood. "A shower, first, I think," he says firmly, and Jack exhales, skin suddenly tingling at the idea of hot water pounding down on it, washing away the accumulated dirt of the last few weeks. And perhaps some of his guilt too. It's a well-worn metaphor, he's aware, but there's a reason metaphors become well-worn, and it's because they _work_. He can feel his gaze brighten just a fraction as he meets Giles' eyes and nods.

The lines around Giles' eyes crinkle as he smiles warmly in return, and holds out a hand. Jack looks down at the hand and doesn't move. He can't take it. He _can't_ touch. Not yet. His eyes fly up to Giles', which are still warm, but also determined. "Please, Jack," Giles says quietly, offering his hand again.

Jack bites his lip, hard, and reaches out slowly. It feels like trying to move his arm through treacle, his own unconscious resistance making the movement seem impossible until suddenly the tips of his fingertips brush Giles'. The contact – bare skin on bare skin for the first time in days – makes him shiver.

"Come on," Giles says softly, his voice full of gentle certainty. "You can do it, Jack."

Jack doesn't really know why this should be such a big deal to him but somehow it _is_. He draws in a deep, shuddery breath and forces himself to take a step towards Giles so that the palms of their hands slide into each other. Another tremor runs through him, harder this time, and he closes his eyes, forcing himself to breathe deeply and just _feel_ : the warmth of Giles' skin, the calluses on his fingers, the strength of his grip.

He'd expected it to make him fly apart, but it doesn't. Instead, it reassures him, gives him strength, thaws him just enough to feel a tiny bit human again.

"Thank you," Giles says affectionately, and leads him slowly through to the bathroom. Jack follows obediently, his heart starting to beat a little faster at the sight of the shower, from a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. He feels Giles squeeze his hand in a brief warning, his heartrate kicking upwards again as Giles lets him go so he can reach in and turn the shower on, the touch so dreaded somehow horribly missed now it's gone.

He swallows, and forces himself to stay standing where he is, waiting for the water to warm up. Then Giles shifts next to him, starting to pull his jacket off, and Jack flinches. He's barely aware of how unusual that is: _Jack Harkness,_ flinching at someone getting undressed. There are just little warning rockets going off in his mind.

Because being naked with someone else is more intimacy than he thinks he can bear. Intimacy leads to caring and that leads to losing, and he's lost enough this last week that he doesn't ever want to lose anything again.

He's not aware that he's backed away and his back is pressed against the closed door until Giles pauses, gazing at him, his eyes concerned. "Jack? It's all right. I'm just taking my clothes off so that I can come in the shower and help you wash. Nothing more. Just so I can be with you. Do you understand?"

Giles isn't asking his permission, and Jack's strangely okay with that. He doesn't want to have to make choices right now. The last few choices he's made have had such spectacularly appalling results, he doesn't trust himself to make even the simplest of decisions right now.

That's why he came here. Because Giles will take charge so he doesn't _need_ to make choices.

Biting his lip, he nods, and does his best to relax as Giles finally removes his jacket – slowly, patiently, as if trying not to startle a nervous animal. The description is probably pretty apt, he thinks wryly.

It feels odd not to be getting hard watching Giles undress, but then, Giles isn't hard either. That discovery helps settle him slightly. This isn't about sex; it's just about getting clean.

And goodness knows he needs to. He hasn't washed in days and he's starting to realise how sticky he is, how much he _smells_.

Giles finishes undressing and turns to Jack with a smile. "Shall we?" he asks, almost playfully but still gently, offering Jack his hand again. It's easier to take it this time, to follow Giles into the shower enclosure and step under the water. Jack hisses at the sensation of it pounding down onto skin that hasn't been exposed to anything in far too long, and that he never really managed to get clean after being encased in concrete, let alone all the sweat and dirt it's accumulated since. He takes a breath and steps closer, ducking his head under the flow too, closing his eyes and letting the heat and the noise take over.

When big, gentle hands slide into his hair and start to rub shampoo into it, he only flinches for a moment. Then he sighs softly, braces his hands against the tiles for support, and lets himself slowly start to melt. The shampoo smells like Giles – sandalwood and patchouli– and that combines with the sensation of the hands in his hair to start him slowly melting towards relaxation.

By the time Giles has gently washed the dirt from his body too, Jack's in a kind of trance from exhaustion and an overwhelming sensation of finally being _safe_. His breathing is slow and deep, his limbs feel heavy and it's only the fact that his hands are braced against the wall of the shower that's keeping him upright at all.

When the noise of the water gradually dims and the flow battering down on his shoulders finally stops, he rouses slowly, blinking his eyes open, squinting in the brightness. Giles rubs his back soothingly and murmurs, "Come on, let's get you dry and to bed."

The mention of bed – bringing with it the implication that he's going to be made to _sleep_ – has Jack tensing up again, but he trusts Giles, he really does, so he does his best to just follow him quietly out of the shower and to stand still while Giles dons one of the robes hanging on the back of the door and then rubs him dry and offers him the second robe. Jack pulls it on slowly, limbs heavy with exhaustion, and hesitates as Giles opens the door back into the bedroom.

Giles pauses, looking back at him, a faint question in his eyes.

Jack looks back at him, acutely aware of the strain that's crept into his face. It's enough to make him find his voice for the first time since he got here. "Giles, I can't," he says hoarsely, desperately, pleadingly. "Please – I don't want to sleep." 

Giles gives him a shrewd look, but there's kindness there too. "All right," he says soothingly. "You don't have to sleep yet, Jack. Let's get some food into you first, hmm?"

Food sounds pretty daunting too, but somehow less so than sleep. Jack inhales deeply, and nods.

Giles rewards him with a smile as he turns away to find a t-shirt and some slacks and pull them on. "I'm not the best cook in the world, but I think I can rustle up some warm bread and milk. Do you think you could eat that?"

Speechless with gratitude that as always Giles somehow knows how much he can manage, Jack nods again.

"Good. Get into bed, then, and I'll be back with some food in a minute."

Again, Jack tenses up. He doesn't want to be left alone. Giles' presence is strong and warm and comforting and now he's here, he doesn't want to be without it.

"Can I come with you?" he asks, his voice sounding ridiculously young and pathetic to his own ears.

Giles barely bats an eyelid, though. "Of course," he says smoothly. "Come along."

Jack is still only wearing the robe and he feels a bit silly walking down the stairs like that even though, with his feet and arms still bare, Giles isn't actually wearing much more than him. Normally, Jack would be more comfortable naked than in a robe, but right now, he's not sure comfortable is a state he's capable of. He sticks, for the moment, with just doing as he's told. Giles gave him the robe to wear, so he's wearing it.

That doesn't stop him fidgeting, though, as Giles starts quietly cutting up bread into fingers and heating milk in a pan on the stove. The feeling of safety is finally seeping through him, and that means he feels like he ought to be _doing_ something, even if he's almost dropping from hunger and exhaustion. He fiddles about, leaning a hip on the counter beside Giles, playing with the belt of his robe, then wandering away to take a turn about the kitchen, running his fingertips along the narrow shelf with Giles' mugs on, remembering occasions when he's used each one and the stories Giles has told him about some of them. Then he goes restlessly to the back door, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the top half and staring blankly out at the garden, the lawn green again after the hot summer, the trees just starting to lose the odd leaf. He wonders what Cardiff looks like now, and has to catch himself before the thought reaches its inevitable conclusion; before he starts to think of the team who aren't there any more, the family who aren't there any more, the _home_ that isn't there any more.

With a gusty sigh, he turns restlessly back into the kitchen, tugging at the belt of his robe again – and finds Giles watching him with a faintly irritated expression. He feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment but he just doesn't know what to do with himself. He can't stop fiddling, and he can't stop feeling silly at being in the kitchen in a fluffy towelling robe.

"Jack, are you going to settle down or do you _want_ me to put you on your knees?" Giles demands at last, and Jack stills suddenly, his breath catching, and stares at him.

 _"Yes,"_ he whispers fervently, as he realises that yes, that _is_ what he wants. He can't cope with decisions right now, even simple ones like what to do with himself while Giles prepares his food. _"Please."_

He needs not to be responsible for a while, not for others, not even for himself. He needs to just _be._

"Very well, then." Giles draws himself up and Jack feels the tension seep out of his body as he watches Giles change before his eyes. His stature becomes more formal, his face more expressionless, his _presence_ far more noticeable. He nods towards the dining room. "On your knees beside my chair. I'll be right behind you."

There's no resisting an order given in that tone, not from Giles, and Jack doesn't want to resist anyway, though he might have protested if Giles hadn't added that rider that made it clear he was coming too. Letting out a long breath, he walks into the dining room and sinks to the floor beside Giles' usual chair, shedding the robe as he goes – and with it somehow a lot of the burdens he's been carrying on his shoulders. He settles down on his heels, folds his hands behind his back, and amazes himself by not feeling a desperate need to turn and watch Giles come in. Instead, he just breathes deeply and lets his gaze settle on the carpet as he hears the soft pad of Giles' bare feet cross to the table and the scrape of the chair as he pulls it out, watching Giles' ankles as he moves round the chair and sits down.

"Much better," Giles says approvingly, and warmth floods through Jack at the praise.

If he'd thought about what to expect when he came to Giles, he wouldn't have pictured himself kneeling naked on the floor while Giles spoon-feeds him bread and milk like a child. He's not complaining, though. It's probably the only way he could relax enough to eat right now. Swallowing past the lump in his throat is easier if he doesn't think about it, if he just kneels there and lets Giles make the decisions.

And Giles does. He gently guides Jack through the whole bowl of food, interspersing the spoonfuls with sips of water and soft words of encouragement and praise, and almost before Jack realises it, it's all gone.

"Well done, Jack," Giles says warmly. He places the bowl on the table and then turns back to run a hand through the hair at the back of Jack's head. Jack shivers, and leans into the touch with a low moan.

Giles makes a soft sound of approval. "Come here," he says, his hand staying put at the nape of Jack's neck to guide him to exactly where he means: between his legs, his hand stroking Jack's hair to encourage him to lay his head on Giles' thigh. Jack moves willingly now, sleepy and relaxed from a combination of warm food in his belly and his unquestioning trust in Giles, his breathing slow and easy as he settles against Giles, his hands coming round to rest on his own thighs. Giles continues to pet his hair and he feels his eyelids grow heavy. He blinks, trying to keep them open.

"Don't fight it, Jack," Giles says lightly, still stroking. "You're safe now. You can rest. I won't let anything bad happen."

He doesn't specify whether he means letting anything bad happen _to_ Jack or letting _Jack_ do anything bad, and Jack's glad for that. Because it's the latter he's afraid of, but he doesn't want to have to admit that out loud. He doesn't really even want Giles to know, but inevitably Giles does. Of course, Giles has done some pretty dubious things himself. Jack doesn't know details, but he knows they've happened, simply because of the way Giles has always reacted so calmly to the news of his own magnificent blunders.

Giles ruffles his hair gently to get his attention, and Jack blinks and looks up at him questioningly.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Jack."

Jack gives him a tiny smile and makes the effect to try and articulate it. "How similar we are. The things we've done. Except I doubt you've ever done anything like what I had to do last week."

Giles' hand strokes down Jack's neck, thumb rubbing over the short hair at its nape. "Tell me, please," he says quietly.

Jack feels his jaw clench, but now the idea of talking about it seems a lot less daunting than it did when he first arrived. He breathes in deeply through his nose, forming the necessary words in his mind, trying to ready himself to actually say them out loud.

"Jack?" Giles' voice is still soft, but there's more command in his tone now.

Jack nods slightly and says quietly, gazing out under the table because he can't look Giles in the face as he says it, "To save the children of the Earth, one child had to be sacrificed. I… I have a daughter, and she had a son. Steven. They were there. And to save the world, I had to kill my own grandson."

There's a long silence which Jack doesn't try to break with more words. Now that he's said it out loud, he feels numb with something that might be relief, and he's content to wait patiently for Giles' reaction.

At last, Giles hisses out a long breath. "The only life you could justify taking was the one who was your own flesh and blood," he says, understanding clear in his tone.

Jack nods, and lets out a long breath of his own, relieved that Giles gets that and isn't going to make him say it out loud. "Yeah."

It had also come down to logistics, of course, but really, if someone had to hurt from what was necessary, Jack would take that on himself whenever he possibly could.

"And his mother?" Giles asks evenly.

"She was there," Jack says hollowly, his mind filling with the image of Alice screaming in horror, clawing at the glass that separated her from her son while Jack killed him. "She saw it all."

Giles draws in a sharp breath. "Good god."

"Yeah."

"Oh, Jack-" Giles begins, but Jack cuts him off.

"Don't," he says quickly, in a low voice. Understanding is great, but he can't handle sympathy right now.

"All right," Giles says quietly, stroking Jack's hair again. It's remarkably soothing. "It worked, though, yes? The threat was quelled?"

Jack nods, but mumbles, "There wouldn't have been a threat at all if it hadn't been for me giving in to their demands the last time, though."

"What do you mean? You've met them before?"

Talking is becoming a little easier the more he goes on, even if the subject matter is anything but easy. "In 1965, I let them have twelve kids. Twelve kids to save the rest of the world. If I hadn't done that, none of this would have happened."

"You don't know that. You can't know what would have happened." Giles' voice is calm and sure. "And I hardly expect it was solely your decision. You weren't in charge, back then. Just following orders."

It's true, but it still feels as if it's his fault, perhaps because he's the only one still around to feel it. And now he's got started on the revelations, it's as if the floodgates have opened and he just wants to let it all out, as if sharing the facts with Giles will let him relinquish his responsibility for them.

"So much of it is down to me, Giles." He counts them off on his fingers, the measures of his accountability. "I gave the 456 those kids in the first place, which led to them coming back demanding more. And it meant that when they came back, the government blew up the Hub to try to keep me quiet." He doesn't elaborate on that but Giles will understand what this means to him: that not only has Torchwood lost everything but _he's_ lost the closest thing he had to a home.

"Then there's Ianto. He's –" His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat to continue. "He's dead. _Another_ member of my team dead, because of me." He can hear his voice tremble and he curses his own weakness. "He needn't have died, but he chose to come with me to face the 456 – he _urged_ me to go and face them, and to take him with me – and because he did, he's dead.

"And across the world there are millions of kids – and their parents – who've had the fright of their lives, all because of me."

He doesn't even start on the business of getting blown-up and re-growing his body and getting buried in concrete. Those didn't hurt anyone but himself, and anyway, he's doing his best not to think about them at all.

Giles strokes down his hair again. "You did the best you could in an impossible situation," he says calmly, with quiet conviction. "You mustn't blame yourself, Jack."

But Giles' words and the touch can't calm Jack any more. He's too deep in guilt. He shifts back onto his heels so that he can look up at Giles, his gaze accusatory. "Wouldn't _you_ be blaming yourself?"

Giles' lips purse. "Perhaps. We are, as you say, somewhat alike. Likewise, I'm sure that in my position, you would be trying to convince me that I shouldn't be taking the blame." A glimmer of humour shows in his eyes. "In fact, I'm fairly sure I remember you lecturing me once or twice about feeling guilty for the trouble Buffy and her friends got into after I left them to stand on their own two feet."

He sighs tiredly. "You can't be responsible for everything, Jack. And self-recrimination is counter-productive. It doesn't achieve anything, and it stops you being able to let go and move on."

 _Move on._ The words echo in Jack's head. He says, in a small voice, "I don't know how to move on from this." He doesn't have anywhere to move on _to_. Apart from Gwen and Rhys, almost everything he had is gone. And he doesn't know if he has the strength to build Torchwood up again, almost from nothing.

He swallows hard, and looks up at Giles, his eyes wide. "Giles, what do I _do_?"

"You'll stay here," Giles says calmly and again, it's not a suggestion. It's really nothing less than an order. "You'll stay here, at least until you've rested enough, and _healed_ enough, to be able to make decisions for yourself."

He sounds so completely convinced that Jack almost rebels. Giles must have seen the flash of mutiny in his eyes because he says coolly, "I mean it, Jack. I won't use force unless I need to, but you are not leaving here until I'm absolutely satisfied that you're in a condition to do so."

And just like that, the rebellion seeps out of Jack. Because Giles is right. He's in no state to make decisions about anything and frankly, the idea of staying with Giles is enormously enticing. It wraps around him like a warm blanket. Giles won't let him hurt anyone. He's safe here.

He feels his shoulders slump as a long breath sighs out of him. He bows his head and closes his eyes for a long moment, letting the tension go. When he opens them again, he's calm, and he slides smoothly back into position in front of Giles, sitting up on his knees, hands behind him, shoulders back, head gently lowered. "Thank you," he says, and at last his voice is calm too.

Giles leans forward slightly to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Well done. How about bed now, hmm?"

This time, somewhat to his own surprise, Jack doesn't even twitch. "Yes," he says easily. He's feeling heavy and limp again and, now, the idea of settling onto soft, clean sheets and finally allowing himself to rest, with Giles wrapped around him to keep him safe, is incredibly inviting.

"Come on, then," Giles says compassionately, getting slowly to his feet and extending a hand to help Jack up. Jack takes it and follows Giles up the stairs to bed with a lack of apprehension that would have been unimaginable half an hour ago.

He's not past it. It's going to be a long, long time before he's processed everything that's happened and worked out what he's going to do next. But he's made a start and, thanks to Giles, he knows he'll get there.

As Giles settles into bed beside him and pulls up the covers comfortingly around them both, he rolls over to meet Giles' eyes. "Thank you," he says, with an intensity that might almost scare him if he weren't too exhausted and too relaxed now to feel scared.

Giles leans over to kiss him softly on the lips. "Any time," he says quietly, a wealth of understanding in his eyes. "Now go to sleep."

And there in Giles' bed, with Giles wrapped around him, Jack does.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd so please do let me know if you spot any typos or bits that don't make sense!


End file.
